


hope (it dangles on a string)

by sarcastic_fina



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 05:05:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1732223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_fina/pseuds/sarcastic_fina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Felicity is sent to live in Washington, DC for her own safety, she ends up meeting, and being saved by, a man struggling to understand who he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hope (it dangles on a string)

**Author's Note:**

> [prompt](http://tanya-posts.tumblr.com/post/84572645993/sarcasticfina-replied-to-your-post-i-saw-a-lot-of) by [tanya-posts](http://tanya-posts.tumblr.com)

Don't ask her why she was living in Washington, DC now, not if you didn't want to hear a  _very_  unique version of 'well, my vigilante boss thought I would be safer far away from the life I'd grown to love on a thrill-seeking level because  _reasons_.' She mostly fed people the 'my boss lost his company to a Russian snake and my job was made obsolete, but then I got this awesome (and oddly well-timed) job offer here in DC and, well, wouldn't you know it, it comes with a rent controlled apartment with a view' lie and that seemed to work out a little better. She was only 99.999 percent sure that Oliver had devised a back-up plan to put all back-up plans to shame, which resulted in her being shipped far, far away from danger.

Of course, he obviously hadn't expected that a government agency of SHIELD's caliber to suddenly reveal that they were far shadier than, well,  _most_ government agencies, and that their strings were being pulled by some not so savory people. The clean-up was still in full progress, making a very small dent each day that passed.

Felicity waited those first few weeks for him to call her home, or for Digg to appear at her apartment door and smuggle her off somewhere else. But things were still happening in Starling – she would like to point that something was  _always_ happening in Starling – and she was considered too… what? Frail? Innocent? Unequipped to handle it? Her personal opinion was that she was apparently deadweight that they needed to offload, but that was only when she was feeling particularly annoyed with the two men in her life. Formerly in her life? It was hard to say with them not answering her phone calls, or returning them.

But, in any case, she was now a not-so-happy resident of Washington, playing audience to the downfall of the government, or at least one of its top agencies. On the bright side, she could stop trying to hack into SHIELD on a lark. What? She liked to hack when she was bored, , and lonely, and feeling a little resentful, and maybe a little deeper into the red wine than appropriate. Sure, SHIELD had nothing to do with her current predicament, but they did have a hand in heroics, or they did once upon a time, and she wasn't feeling too kind to heroes these days. So she hacked, as she was prone to do. Only now all of SHIELD's dirty laundry was aired for anyone to see, and she did a lot of seeing, and late night reading. Some of it was borderline terrifying, actually. The things people did, were ordered to do, all in the name of national security…  _Yeah_ , don't sign her up for a SHIELD badge anytime soon. Not that it would matter, it being basically defunct at this point. But still. If she thought the corruption in Starling City was hard to swallow, it was nothing compared to the global scale.

Her job, of the completely boring and normal variety, was in a nice part of town, and thankfully far away from the parts of the city that were destroyed in the SHIELD blowout. She even enjoyed the walk, moving down busy streets that were slowly becoming more and more familiar. They weren't home, not by a long shot, and she still hoped that eventually she would find her way home, ruby slippers or not, but it would have to do for now. Not because a couple of hard-headed men ordered her to stay away but because, well, part of her thought maybe that made sense. Chalk it up to feeling a little inferior when she looked around and found herself surrounded by muscle mass that almost ( _almost_ ) put her brain mass to shame, but there were, occasionally, days when she wondered where she fit on the team. And yes, Digg's heartfelt, and completely sincere, cheer-up talk about her being irreplaceable helped. Only then she was sent away and it felt like maybe those words weren't as true as she thought they were.

It was on a Monday morning when her life changed. Most people hated Mondays, but her favorite coffee shop always had the  _best_ white chocolate cookies on Mondays. She wasn't sure what they were doing the rest of the week that made the other cookies pale in comparison, but Monday's were always the best. So she stopped in to pick up her coffee and two cookies, one to eat on her lunch break later, and left the shop with a little more bounce in her step.

She was making her way down the road, weaving in and out of people, her cookie tucked in her mouth and the handle of her purse latched onto the pinkie finger of the hand holding her coffee, while she dug around inside for her security pass. She pushed aside her wallet, a pair of sunglasses with a broken arm that she should  _really_ get rid of already, a nearly empty pack of Dentyne gum, her cell phone, and her tablet, before she felt the metal teeth of her pass. She cried out  _a-ha_!, and might have, under different circumstances, given a fist pump of triumph, but then nearly lost her cookie and was quickly reaching up to catch it as it nearly slipped from her teeth. Her coffee sloshed from the movement and a little trickled out to burn her hand.

She was so distracted, and really, her mother always told her not to multi-task her way into traffic, that she did, well,  _exactly_ that.

In her defense, out of her peripheral, it looked like people were crossing the road in the same direction she was. So she didn't bother lifting her head, assuming she had the right of way. In the month and a half she'd been in Washington, she'd never run into any trouble, not even an angrily honked horn. But luck was not on her side that day. Or, maybe it was, just not in the way she quite expected.

When the horn blasted, she jumped, dropping both coffee and cookie and going completely still; not the best reaction when a car was baring down on her. And neither was her deer-in-the-headlights impression, apt as it rather was.

But, just as she was expecting to become a pancake – and she'd be sure to mention that it was absolutely Oliver and Digg's fault for sending her there in the first place – she was suddenly  _not_ in the way of the car. She was, however, sprawled out, laying atop a very firm body on the pavement. Her eyes were squeezed shut for a very long moment, long enough to hear somebody yelling back at her that she was crazy as the car took off. Opening first one, and then her second eye, she finally looked down to see a man staring back at her. He was unshaven, with dark whiskers over his somewhat gaunt cheeks, smudges under her eyes that reminded her of Oliver when he avoided sleep for days on end, and long, scraggly hair in desperate need of not only shampoo but a pair of scissors.

A homeless man had saved her life, that was her first conclusion.

He stared up at her with pale blue eyes, a little wide, even shocked, and she wondered if maybe this was his first heroic deed.

Which, of course, is when she began to babble.

"Are you okay? No, stupid question. Of course you're not, I landed on you. And you just tackled me out of the way of a car. You're probably bruised, at the very least. Which,  _obviously_  is a lot better than what I would've been if you hadn't saved my life. Thank you for that, by the way. That was… insane, but heroic. Something I'm entirely too familiar with, actually. Not that you have any idea what I mean by that. And I can't really tell you about it anyway. Which is why I should stop talking about it, only I'm nervous, and I ramble when I'm nervous. It's just that this was very close. Like, wow, Felicity sure was a good person, it's too bad her life ended so quickly, close. And that would've been tragic, especially since the whole point of moving to Washington was to  _avoid_ being the next name on a casualty list. Not that you need my life story or anything, I mean, you've already done enough and now you're probably a little traumatized and I'm just adding to the whole awful experience by not shutting up. Which I'm going to do in 3… 2…" She blew out a heavy breath, rolled her eyes at herself and finally looked back down at her saviour.

People were beginning to crowd around them, curious bystanders who wanted to see the show. Like vultures, mostly. Though she imagined some of them were probably just good people who wanted to see if they were really all right. The guy she was laying on, however, was not so keen on the attention. His face suddenly shuddered, eyes going from wide-eyed shock to narrow and spooked.

"It's okay. They're just worried. Not every day somebody saves someone's life, right?" She dropped her hand down to the pavement in an effort to push herself up, all the while watching him worriedly. "I didn't catch your name and that's standard protocol, right? I'm Felicity, by the way. Felicity Smoak."

He stared at her, sitting up abruptly, and cast his eyes around again, watching the people that were gathering around them in clusters, talking to each other, some of them pulling out phones.

Apparently he wasn't okay with that, because he leapt up to his feet then and ducked his head, hurriedly rushing away, pushing through the crowd without apology.

Felicity watched him go, her brow furrowed and her lips set in a frown. That was… weird. But if her assumption about him being homeless was right, then maybe privacy was a big thing for him. Or maybe there were some mental health issues. Whatever it was, she couldn't judge. He'd narrowly saved her life, or at the very least a severely long stay in a hospital. She wished she'd gotten a name, though. It only seemed right.

"Miss? Are you okay?"

A hand reached out to help her up and she took it, letting the stranger help her to her feet as she dusted her knees.

"That was a pretty close call…"

Felicity nodded, offering a faint smile. "Yeah, it was. I guess I was lucky…"

She turned her head to stare at where the man had walked off to, but he was long gone.

Other people soon grabbed her attention, checking on her, asking what happened. Felicity indulged them for a few minutes, long enough, at least, to gather her things and put her dignity back together, and then she continued on with her morning, hurrying to work without her coffee or her cookie, all the while distracted.

She wondered what Digg might say if she told him what happened and couldn't help a smile. He would tease her, probably, that she always attracted heroes. Or crazies. She was willing to categorize the man of earlier in the hero column, but then, Digg might also remind her that she was quick to assume the best in people. Too quick, even.

For now, though, with the probability of never seeing him again, she decided that, whoever he was, he was, at the very least,  _her_ hero.

Behind her, on one of the many televisions hung on the walls around the tech floor she worked on, CNN ran silently and unseen. A drawing of the Winter Soldier was being shown to viewers, with the very important questions of 'who' and 'where' being raised.

* * *

While her near-death experience wasn't forgotten, it was sidelined for a while. Felicity had more than enough work to keep her busy, even if it wasn't something she particularly enjoyed anymore. There were days when she could get lost in ones and zeroes, but they were full of nostalgia. An appreciation for what  _was_ , not what  _is_. She loved tech, she even enjoyed being back in IT, where her skill set was of far more use, but that didn't stop her from feeling like a part of her had long ago moved on from this particular part of her life, and doing anything but what she'd been doing on her nights in the foundry felt like a waste.

She called Digg and Oliver and kept an eye on the news out of Starling, constantly worrying that the reason they hadn't called was because something had happened, something had taken them from her. But there was no news of billionaire, and former CEO of Queen Industries, Oliver Queen being found dead from suspicious, or unsuspicious, events. He was, as far as she could tell, alive. Maybe not well, but alive. And as angry as she was about what he'd done in pushing her away,  _sending_ her away, she hoped he stayed that way. She hoped Sara and Digg helped keep him that way.

Leaving work a little later that night, she found the IT floor mostly empty, a number of the lights on and the sound of a vacuum running in the distance telling her that she'd more than overstayed. It wasn't unlike her to log in hours far over the title of 'overtime' but she was even more restless these days. She'd made friends with a few of her coworkers, but it felt… different, somehow. She liked them and they understood all of her pop culture references, but she didn't quite feel like she fit in. Maybe it was the last two years of playing partner to a vigilante or the third corner in a triangle of heroics, but this life, this normal, regular life, just didn't fit the bill for her anymore.

Tucking her blue pea-coat over her arm, she left work with her purse hung over her shoulder and her phone in hand. She bit her lip as she walked down the sidewalk, staring at the names in her contact list, thumb hovering over Oliver's name. It felt pointless, to keep calling when she knew she wouldn't get a response. It also felt a little desperate, constantly calling and asking to be let back into the boy's club. Well, she guessed with Sara there that wasn't quite fitting, but the meaning was all the same. She was the faulty link in the chain, the one most likely to get hurt or to become a liability. The one the bad guys would take hostage in the event that they needed to get back at the real heroes. God, she needed wine and a serious boost to her self-esteem, because this pity party was getting to be too much, and it was going on far too long.

If they didn't want her to play hero with them anymore, then maybe it was time she stopped holding onto that dream so tightly. Maybe it was time she started doing something she wanted to do and stopped asking for permission. She wasn't going to sign herself up for a cat-suit and start playing hero in Washington, because that wasn't her style, nor was it her particular skill set, but that didn't mean she couldn't put her skills to use elsewhere, somehow. She had no idea how,  _yet_ , but angsting over her former life wasn't getting her any farther in this life. And what was it her mother used to say? ' _You either get going or you get lost_.' Barbie Smoak wasn't always a font of wisdom, but sometimes she dropped a few truth bombs that landed. So it was either time for Felicity to get her life together, to do something, or to resign herself to what she had.

She didn't get this far by accepting her lot in life.

With a grin, she picked up her pace a little, feeling good about her decision.

She was a few blocks from her apartment when she felt it. That hair-raising, eyes on her back, feeling that made a chill run down her spine. Someone was watching her. Following her even. She squeezed her hand around her purse, wondering if she'd left the pepper spray Digg had given her inside her purse after she'd cleaned it out when it got just a little too heavy to be lugging around with her everywhere she went. But just as she got the courage to reach inside and search around for the canister, she felt a hand land on her shoulder.

Giving a little shriek, she whirled around, ready to scream for help, or fire. Didn't she read something about how yelling 'fire' encouraged people to help a lot more than yelling 'help' did? If she had more time to think on that, she might've spent it worrying about the state of humanity these days. But then she found herself staring at a familiar, if dirty and a little paranoid looking, face. She paused, scream caught in her throat, and she absolutely heard a voice in her head, sounding entirely too much like Digg, that told her not to hesitate just because the person she was seeing was familiar. He was still behaving weirdly, and it wasn't like this was normal, stopping a stranger on a dark, empty street. But…

"Hey, I know you… You're the guy that knocked me out of the way of that car…" She stared at him searchingly, her brow furrowing. "And now you're here, in the middle of the night, staring at me funny… because that's not scary or stalkery at all…" She laughed awkwardly. "Speaking of stalkery, is that what this is? Why you saved me? Why you're here? Because you've been following me?" So apparently she wasn't beating around the bush.  _Wow, Felicity, way to show how scared you are_.

He didn't answer, staring at her a long minute, and then he pulled his hand back and stuffed it inside his jacket. A jacket, she noticed, that had seen better days. It was torn and dirty and a little too big for him.

"The not-talking thing is creepy, just so you know." She tossed her hands up, her brows hiking. "Oh God, unless you're mute and that was offensive, in which case, I apologize, profusely. If you haven't noticed yet, I put my foot in my mouth, a lot."

His lips parted, dry and chapped, but nothing came out for a few seconds. He looked away and then back at her, his brow furrowed, and then he asked, "You're okay?"

She blinked at him. "What? From the car thing? Oh, yeah, totally okay. I mean, I think my pride took a big hit, I lost a good cookie in the fight, and I might've skinned a knee, but otherwise, yes, I'm fine. The definition of it even. Or one of the definitions anyway, since it also means 'attractive' and then there's that whole 'fucked up, insecure, neurotic, emotional' thing, which, probably not relevant to this conversation. But, you know what, never mind. I'm okay. From the car thing."

He gave a short nod, his chin settling downward, and she watched him. He looked… confused and hesitant and not a little uncomfortable.

"Is that all you wanted to ask? If I was okay…?" she wondered.

He swallowed tightly, and then gave a short, jerky shake of his head.

"Okay… Well, I can't help if you don't ask."

He bit his lip, dropping his eyes to the ground.

Felicity shifted her feet. This was awkward. And her mental-Digg was telling her to leave, that it wasn't safe. She had no idea who this guy was or what he might do. Just because he saved her once didn't mean that was his  _modus operandi_. For all she knew, it was a way of establishing trust. And God, she spent way too much time with him and Oliver if her head went straight to serial killer.

The man opened his mouth again, hesitated, and then finally asked, "It was okay…? What I did…?"

She blinked. "What you did…? Are… Are you asking me if you saving me was the right thing to do?"

He glanced at her eyes but then settled his gaze on her chin, and gave a quick, tiny nod.

"I… Yes." She swallowed tightly. "Yes, it was the right thing to do. You… You did the right thing. It was very… heroic."

He winced, hunching his shoulders forward, and she thought he might be pulling away, defensive against the word.

"No? Not that word? Uh, okay, not heroic then. It was… humane?" She frowned. That didn't sound right. "I guess that works. It was the right thing to do. You saw somebody in danger. Even if it was their own fault. And you saved them. That… That's what we should all do, I guess. My college psych classes would probably call it altruistic, since you could've been hurt too but did it anyway. Does that work?"

He frowned, staring at her chin still, and then nodded slowly.

"Okay. So, thank you, strange man without a name, for being altruistic and saving this poor IT geek from being Washington's blondest pancake."

Faintly, just barely, his mouth turned up at the corner.

She counted that as a victory.

"I… I'm going to head home, though, all right? It's late, and I have work tomorrow. But thank you, seriously." She considered reaching out to him, but with the way he held himself, decided not. He kind of reminded her of Oliver, when he was having one of his bad days, usually because of something island-associated, and she knew that he didn't want that physical comfort. Might even react badly to it. So she kept her distance.

With one last look at him, she turned on her heel to walk away. Digg told her never to turn her back on an enemy, but, and she knew he'd call her too soft-hearted for her own good, she didn't feel like he was the enemy. He was just a man. A confused, complicated man who looked like he was dealing with some serious personal issues. Issues she would not be touching with a ten foot pole. She'd had enough of mentally scarred men to last her a lifetime. Even if she did miss his gruff, grumpy, Oliver-isms.

She was nearly at the next light when she heard him call her name. She turned back, her ponytail swinging over her shoulder, and he stared at her, his head cocked a little.

"Felicity," he said again.

"Yeah?" she asked.

"I… I'll remember you," he said, nodding to himself.

She half-smiled. It might have sounded like a threat from someone else, but in that moment it sounded to her like more of a promise. Like he had trouble remembering things, but this,  _she_ , would be different.

"You're not so forgettable yourself," she returned, raising a hand to wave.

And he hesitated, enough that she paused.

"Bucky," he said, though he didn't sound so sure. "My name is Bucky."

"Okay…  _Bucky_."

He nodded, shifting his feet, and then he turned and walked away in the opposite direction, his head ducked down and his hands firmly pressed into his pockets. She watched him go, her brow furrowed, and then shook her head. Turning around, she continued on her way home, letting his name rattle around in her brain.  _Bucky_. Funny. He didn't quite look like a Bucky. But then, sometimes experiences made a name more than looks. And too, maybe under all that hair, there was someone who more closely resembled a 'Bucky.' Rolling her eyes to herself, she climbed the stairs to her building and made her way inside. It wasn't like she'd see him again. Or, well, it was unlikely. What were the odds of them running into each other a third time?

Then again, what were the odds of her getting out of Las Vegas? Or going to MIT? Or partnering up with Oliver Queen and his vigilante persona? Her life was made of beating the odds. So maybe, despite the strangeness of it all, she'd be seeing Bucky again sometime. Here's hoping mental-Digg was wrong and he wasn't a serial killer.

**Author's Note:**

> This was previously only posted on my Tumblr, but I was asked to post it here. I hope you enjoyed it! I have considered writing more to it. I have a few ideas. So, if you're interested in reading more, let me know! :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please review; they're my lifeblood!
> 
> \- **Lee | Fina**


End file.
